Paint Schoodic

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Thursday, June 8, 2017

What does it mean to be a successful artist?

To make progress, we
must experience the doldrums as well as the exhilaration of
creativity.

This sketch of the Ellwanger Estate in Rochester went from being something I hated to being a favorite painting.

One of my artist friends is struggling right now. Her current
work feels stale to her, but when she pushes the boundaries, she is
uncomfortable. She worries that the results feel like “too, too much.” Like
most of us, she is looking for that sweet spot that combines marketability with
room to grow and challenge herself.

Another artist friend wonders how to tell if you’re a
successful artist. She proposed that you are a success if you bring joy to someone.
I pointed out that a lot of people have some really awful art hanging on their
walls. It apparently makes them happy. Bringing joy, then, may be setting the
bar too low.

I spent one memorable spring consistently overshooting the colors. I wasn't happy then. I am now.

In other career paths, success is measured by dollars. In
art, financial success is dependent on things other than artistic mastery, like
connections, marketing skills, organization, and financial resources. Many
great painters have labored in poverty and obscurity through most or all of
their careers. Artistic success, then, must first be defined in artistic, not
financial, terms. The problem is that the goal is constantly shifting.

As artists, we struggle to achieve some effect or transmit an
idea. This struggle can be quite lengthy, lasting weeks or months. When we
succeed, we can churn out art, seemingly effortlessly. During that short golden
period, work is fun and exciting. We feel like we’ve finally ‘got it’.

I worked on site on Lower Falls at Letchworth for the better part of a season. That meant hiking to the bottom of the gorge with my painting kit. It was no fun.

Sadly, this is a fleeting thing.

Soon another question or problem surfaces. We realize a
deficiency, or we need to explore a different subject. The searching and
questing starts again. Work feels halting, incompetent, and difficult.

There are times when it seems like I’ve never held a brush
before. I’m awkward, unpolished, and incapable. No, I’m not suffering from
amnesia. If I’m doing my job right, I haven’t
done this before, because part of what we artists do—or ought to do—is explore
uncharted areas. Luckily, I’m a process-driven, rather than results-driven person.
Otherwise, I’d lose my mind.

The struggle at the Lower Falls meant that painting its mate,
Upper Falls at Letchworth, was easy.

Some of the pieces that felt most
awkward at the time actually turned out to be road-markers for the forward
journey. That’s why I’m never keen on scrubbing out ‘failures’ after
a painting session. I just can’t tell what a painting means when I’m working on
it.

Embracing a cycle of success and struggle is the heart of the
artistic process. To make progress, we must allow ourselves to experience the
doldrums as well as the exhilaration of the creative process.

The Long Road Home is another work that had to be dragged out of my fingertips.

When someone is at the bottom of one of these cycles, I
recommend they read (or reread) the classic Art
& Fear by David Bayles and Ted Orland. They address the
pertinent issues of habit, persistence and routine. If nothing else, the book reminds
us that we’re not alone in this struggle.

2 comments:

Very meaningful writing and powerful paintings!At the end, I wondered about re-reading the book. Could I find it? I lifted one item on my desk, and under it was the black survival guide-It was meant to be !